


you are my best i’ll never know.

by withersake



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Never Resolved Romantic Tension, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, When You Played Yourself‚ Emotionally So
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22923697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withersake/pseuds/withersake
Summary: Rodimus breathed out as if in both in awe and in prayer, his breath sweet from candies as a sorrow clung to him like a too-familiar lover.( Or Drift and Rodimus, in a snapshot of what could be. )
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65
Collections: Tfp





	you are my best i’ll never know.

**Author's Note:**

> **Pairings:** Drift/Rodimus, implied.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Sadness.
> 
>  **General Notes:** Takes place post-Lost Light, with the universe being the ‘main’ one.
> 
>  **Current Notes:** Sometimes when you want your boy to continue being the main focus of his tag on this site, you gotta rewrite sad things and make them sadder because you’re listening to Fall Out Boy on repeat.

He almost missed him.

Almost.

After all the time and distance that had been put between them, it was a shock to Drift’s systems when he bumped into Rodimus. Perhaps he should have known he would meet him again during the Festival of Lost Light. There was too much symbolism; there was too much weight for something not to happen on that day as fireworks were launched into the sky and drowned everyone in light. Perhaps he should have recognised that. Perhaps he should have done something, just in case.

But he didn’t and there they were.

Drift almost didn’t recognise Rodimus in the crowd, almost didn’t realise his former _something_ was also there.

If their fields hadn’t _clicked_ the way they had, he would have brushed Rodimus away and moved on with his life. And maybe he should have— judging by the shock in Rodimus’ optics when their gazes locked onto the other, Drift knew he wasn’t alone.

“Roddy.” He hated how breathless he sounded when he said the name but he still loved the way it tasted on his glossa, lingered on there for him to both savour and regret. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Rodimus repeated and agreed, the smile not quite reaching his optics. (And something about that hurt him. Was Drift not enough for a real smile now?) Rodimus was the one who took a step back, to put a distance between them. ~~Drift had to resist the urge to grab him and keep him and never let him go again.~~ “Um. Hey there, Drift. I hope you’ve been enjoying the festival.”

“I am. It’s nice. The festival is nice and you’re— You’re nice. You look better.”

He meant it. Rodimus really did look better if Drift compared him to last time they met somewhere cool and dark and private, the last time they held each other’s servos and felt promise signed to the other. (Then they both broke the vow and never reached out, never followed up. Kept sending ‘we should spend more time together’ and ‘let’s hang out soon!’ between each other, never willing to commit once the cracks began to show.)

Drift allowed himself to drink up the view before him, aided by the fireworks blooming overhead, splashes of their light bringing clearer colours, sharper shapes: Rodimus’ armour was polished and free of dents and scuffs. His aura clear of that strange and sickly-sweet haze that plagued him. His breath was sweet, yes, but only with candies and not with cheap engex that must have burned in the back of his throat.

 ~~What would his lips taste like if Drift pulled him closer and _finallyfinally **finally**_ —~~ Drift also tried to ignore all the little wrongs his optics couldn’t help but notice as Rodimus laughed (hollowly) at the compliment. The dull optics that seem to be memorising him in turn, like that would be the final time they’ll ever meet. The listless and flat field. The way a sorrow clung to Rodimus like a too-familiar lover.

“Thanks, Drift. You look nice as well. Um…” Rodimus trailed off, looking both disappointed and embarrassed with himself. “Have you been enjoying the festival so far?”

Drift tried to smile at Rodimus with patience and indulgence, just like before. He wondered where his energy from earlier went, for this one action to be so exhausting now. “I have. It’s nice to be around others for something meaningful as this. I came alone. I didn’t think I’ll see you here and I—” ~~missyouloveyouwonderedwhyyounevercalled~~ “—didn’t think you’ll be here. I—”

He tried to reach out and hold Rodimus’ servos in his own, wondering if his touch would still be warm and hoping it’ll show how much Drift missed him and whatever they had, before it all.

Rodimus flinched, however, and Drift felt his spark twist and scream at that reaction, cowed and embarrassed and angry and, somehow, not surprised.

“… I think it’s nice to see you again, Rodimus,” he finished and doesn’t stop his words from having a bite to them, “I hope it’s the same for you.”

Rodimus smiled back the same smile Drift must have had on his own face. “Y-Yeah! Same here, Drift. I didn’t think I’ll bump into you, you know? The Exitus is, um, only here to resupply but I heard that this was happening and, you know, I thought it’ll be fun to come here?” He was about to say something, perhaps a comment or remark that Drift would have found amusing, but Rodimus stopped himself ( _why?_ ) before he could say it. “Um… And… I just got here. It’s nice. The candies are, um, nice. Great! And…”

He trailed off, unable to say anything else as he simply stared at Drift. Drift stared back, unsure of what else he could bring up since, apparently, there was nothing they could speak of now. Both of them saw the distance and the graves they made with their own servos and knew that they were both too deep to bridge through in one fleeting meeting between the pair.

“Um… How are you?” Rodimus wouldn’t look him in the optic when he asked that, knowing it would be the third time he asked that. “Have you been doing well?”

And, suddenly, Drift found himself hating it. All of it. He had a sudden urge to scream, to yell, to rage against the blooming skies overhead because he was tired all of the sudden. The aimless and wandering talk they’ve been reduced to now. The widening gap they both saw and struggled with and denied all the same. The innocent and loaded question Rodimus kept peppering with him, said with such uncertainty that no ex-Amica, ex- _something_ should say.

How was he? Has he been doing well? What could he say to any of that?

(A lot of things, really. _I’m not okay. I’m not. I haven’t been since Ratchet died and you never called me and it feels like all of us died in that moment. I hated you. I missed you. I worried about you. I’m so, so tired. Aren’t you tired? What happened to us?_

_~~Please, come with me.~~ _

But he never said them. He wasn’t sure if he would ever say them. Because it meant chasing, confronting, and admitting to all the mistakes they both made over the centuries. The words burned in the back of his throat.)

Instead, Drift reached out to Rodimus. No words. Only actions. Only gestures that could get past through the smoke of burning bridges that continued to burn and burn between them.

They both ignored the way Drift’s servo shook as it pressed against Rodimus’ too cool cheek; Drift’s spark broke just a little bit when he saw how Rodimus all but leaned into the touch and shuddered, tension and something else breaking even in him.

Drift ghosted the pad of his thumb across the lush mouth he dreamed of kissing, over and over again, until a ghost of the smile he still once so adored came back. But only barely.

“It’s you,” Rodimus breathed out as if in both in awe and in prayer, his breath sweet from candies as a sorrow clung to him like a too-familiar lover.

Above their heads, the fireworks exploded overhead into the pitch black. They parted in a burst of colours and sparks and all the other pretty things that Drift once loved about Rodimus. 

The too-bright light drowned him and Drift pretended that was why his optics stung at that moment. “It’s me.”

**Author's Note:**

> One day I will write a happy and explicit Driftrod fic. Not today but one day.


End file.
